Vortex

CHAPTER 39 Acceleration

JANUARY 6-HEADQUARTERS, ALLIED EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, DURBAN

Lt. Gen. Jerry Craig held two message slips in his hand. One read, Do not believe Vorster has political control or resources to carry out his threat. Recommend continuing offensive operations.

The second telex said, Expert consultants have advised us that Vorster’s claim is credible. Suggest you halt operations and use time to consolidate position until way is found to clear demolitions from mine sites.

One was from CIA, the other from the State Department. The third message he’d received was the one that counted ostensibly a secure voice call from the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, but actually reflecting the

President’s own opinion. Ten minutes of talk that boiled down to, “We rely on your estimate of the situation and will back whatever judgment you make. ” Well, he would have resented anything else, but it still left him the man on the spot.

Every senior and junior staff officer in the Allied head812

quarters packed the briefing room. Officers of two nationalities and every service filled the chairs and lined the walls. Christ, Craig thought, I don’t know half of these people. And that bothered him. Part of the problem of holding higher level command was that you had to rely on the abilities of men and women you would never know as more than slots filled in on an organization chart.

As more and more officers streamed in, Craig sat, conferring with Skiles and the division commanders. There were always operational matters to discuss, and he was so wrapped up in the 24this supply situation that he almost didn’t feel the tap on his shoulder. Sergeant Major Bourne loomed over him, tall, barrel-chested, and every inch the Marine’s Marine.

“Sir, it’s time.”

Craig glanced at his watch.

“Thank you, Sergeant Major.

He glanced behind him at the packed room and listened to the near-deafening buzz of conversation. He knew what they were talking about. Any headquarters was a rumor mill, and Vorster’s last-ditch threat had provided fertile ground for speculation. Some of the rumors about planned Allied action were entertaining, others were just flat-out wrong.

“Let’s get things rolling.”

Bourne nodded and strode to the front of the room, facing the assembled group. Ignoring the microphone on the podium nearby, he called in a parade-ground bellow, “Attention on deck! “

The voices stopped as if turned off by a light switch, replaced by the momentary thunder of hundreds of boots hitting the floor.

Craig strode up to the podium and turned to scan the erect, silent crowd-a sea of upturned faces.

“Seats, ladies and gentlemen. “

He paused while they settled in again. Then he started, careful to keep his voice hard, incisive, and confident. This was a pep talk more than a briefing. Some commanders forgot that staff morale was sometimes just as important as front line morale. He wasn’t one of them.

“You’ve all heard Vorster’s promise to destroy the mines if we don’t withdraw unconditionally from South Africa. A

threat that he’s made to the Cubans as well.” Craig nodded toward Skiles and the rest of his immediate staff.

“I want you to know that we are taking him seriously, although I admit that can be hard to do at times.”

That prompted a light wave of laughter. Vorster’s nickname at headquarters was Gonzo. Good. Everyone’s attitude had been a little too grim for his liking.

Craig let the laugh die away before continuing. He wanted every man and woman in the room to hear exactly what he had to say next.

“Serious or not, I don’t intend to let this bastard slow us down. We will continue to advance as far and as fast as we can. Right now, our forces have the momentum-to stop now and try to regain that momentum later would cost time and lives I will not waste.”

He studied the faces in front of him. They looked serious and grimly determined. Good.

“Frankly, Vorster’s political situation seems so unstable that we’re not sure he can persuade his own military to go along with this demolition threat. There’s a maxim of warfare that you tend to overestimate an enemy’s capabilities. Well, we don’t want to fall into that trap here.”

Heads nodded around the room.

“Nevertheless, we will be conducting intensive reconnaissance of mines and other important industrial facilities as we move forward. And I want all troop commanders to make sure their people know their NBC procedures from front to back. “

More heads nodded. With warning and the proper equipment, men could live and fight in a radioactive or chemically contaminated environment. But it took constant training and refresher courses to ensure that the warning and the gear would be put to good use.

“Now, there’s no question that ourjob’sjust gotten tougher and more complicated ” He smiled grimly “No question at all. Unfortunately, nobody’s civilized enough these days to fight in straight lines on nice, open battlefields. But we take the enemies we get. And Vorster is what we’ve got.”

Craig spoke flatly.

“One thing’s certain. Vorster and his fanatics are desperate. This latest threat proves that. We have them on the ropes. So let’s keep them off-balance and go in for the knockout.” He’d opted for boxing terminology at the last moment. His

British officers might not have understood the football comparisons that had first popped into his mind.

“Fourth and goal” didn’t mean anything in soccer.

“That is all, ladies and gentlemen. Carry on.”

He nodded to Boume.

“Attention!” The staff rose to their feet as one. As Craig stepped down from the podium, the sergeant major whispered, “Your press conference is set up in the London Room, sir. “

Craig sighed. He begrudged the time, but he had to give the media something to chew on. Reporters abhorred a vacuum more than nature, and if they didn’t have hard information, they’d take the soft stuff. Every rumor and whisper his staff had started would be amplified a hundredfold.

At least when his officers speculated, it was informed speculation.

“Tell them I’ll be there in five minutes, and tell General Skiles I want my immediate staff assembled for a meeting in half an hour.”

Craig looked at Skiles; and the others in his office, sitting, perched on the edges of desks, or standing.

“All right, gentlemen, the troops have been given the gouge, and the press has received a distilled dose of the same. Now what the hell are my options?”

Nobody even considered advising him to halt or slow down. Offensive pressure was more than a military decision. It was an extension of their commander’s personal desire to end this war as quickly as possible.

His J-2, the officer in charge of intelligence, cleared his throat.

“I

don’t know about options exactly, General, but I do have more information from the JCS. They have nuclear and mining engineers talking to each other. Apparently, what Vorster wants to do is possible.”

Craig nodded. That only confirmed his basic assessment. It was always easier to wreck something than to build it, and Vorster had already shown he was an expert at tearing things apart.

Skiles looked thoughtful.

“I’ve been working on the time factors involved,

General. I don’t think Pretoria would have made this threat public unless they already had at least one site wired. On the other hand, they’d be stupid to wait until the job was completely done.”

“Makes sense.”

“Okay.” Skiles doodled a quick series of numbers on a pad while he talked.

“I put some of our engineers and some Navy people with nuclear-power training on this. Now, based on the number of targets and some very rough estimates of South Africa’s transportation capabilities, they don’t believe the Afrikaners could prep a significant part of the Witwatersrand before the eighth or ninth at the earliest. Maybe even later than that.”

The chief of staff looked up from his doodling.

“It also gives us another reason for pressing the attack. The more pressure we put on Pretoria, the fewer troops the Afrikaners can release for transport and demolition work.”

“Then let’s keep the pressure on,” Craig said, “but let’s face facts. Even at forty-plus klicks a day, we’re still not going to be close enough to the mines before they’re rigged and ready to blow.”

His Air Force liaison leaned forward.

“Hell, we have total air superiority.

Why not grab these places by air assault like Ladysmith? We’ve got the helos and the manpower. “

Craig shook his head. He liked his officers to think aggressively. But sensible planning had to be firmly grounded in reality.

“I’m afraid that’s a nonstarter.”

The intelligence officer amplified Craig’s reasoning.

“There are literally hundreds of shafts and pits in the Witwatersrand, John. Every one of them would have to be hit by surprise and cleared simultaneously. It’s just not possible. “

“Yeah. I get the picture. ” The Air Force brigadier general lapsed into a gloomy silence.

The faces around the room mirrored his uncertainty and frustration.

Craig let the silence drag on for several seconds. Then he leaned forward.

“We’re looking at this situation the wrong way, gentlemen.

We’ve been looking from the bottom up instead of from the top down. How do we capture the mines? How do we block half a dozen channels of possible communication? How do we stop Afrikaner demo teams from setting off their charges?” He shook his head.

“The fundamental problem we face isn’t tactical-it’s strategic. So we need a strategic solution. A head shot, not more body blows. “

They stared back at him. Skiles got it first.

“You mean Vorster. “

“Right.” Craig’s voice was cold.

“Once Vorster gives the word to contaminate the mines, there’s nothing we can do to stop it from happening. So we have to take him out before he can give that order.”

JANUARY 7-LOUIS BOTHA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, DURBAN

Two men wearing South African Army uniforms stepped down out of the

U.S.

Air Force C-141 Starlifter and walked across the pitted tarmac toward the terminal building. The Air Force security troops on guard detail stiffened in surprise until they saw the red-white-and-blue armbands marking the men as Cape Province regulars. Both also had passes countersigned by the

Allied commander at Cape Town.

None of the MPs were especially surprised when the pair asked for directions to the Special Warfare compound at one end of the airport.

Everybody knew the Rangers and the SAS had dealings with all sorts of unusual people.

Col. Robert O’Connell sat behind his desk with his hands folded together in front of him. He was pleased to note that they weren’t shaking-at least not much. That one week’s enforced leave on Cape Town’s beaches might have been worth it after all.

The remnants of O’Connell’s 1/75th Rangers were back in the States enjoying a well-deserved rest and an outpouring

of public and media adulation. With Gener dead, the Pentagon brass had frocked him to the rank of full colonel and put him in command of the whole Ranger regiment. They’d expected him to handle that job from the

U.S. Instead he’d taken his promotion and volunteered for immediate service in South Africa. Part of that was pure cussed ness or maybe just stupidity, he thought. But mostly it was sheer professional pride. The war was still on. This Marine general Craig had the 2/75th under his orders now. And no Ranger regimental commander worth his pay could possibly run the show from a comfortable stateside berth while his men went into combat.

O’Connell smiled slightly, remembering his irritation when Col. Paul

Gener had said much the same thing to him. He shook his head. Gener had been right. Things did look different from the other side of the desk.

A polite cough from one of his guests brought him back to the present.

He looked up at the three men seated across from him. He’d gotten to know

Brig. Chris Taylor pretty well during several meetings in Cape Town. Maj.

Oliver Cain served as both the commander of the British Special Air

Service squadron attached to the Allied force, and as 0”Con nell deputy in the Joint Special Warfare HQ set up to coordinate the Ranger, Green

Beret, SAS, and SBS units operating in South Africa.

The third man, though, was someone he knew only by reputation. Commandant

Henrik Kruger’s trek through hostile territory had made headlines around the world. O’Connell sat up straighter.

“So you’re that sure of this guy

Coetzee? You don’t think he’d get cold feet and back out at the last minute?”

Kruger shook his head.

“I would trust Deneys Coetzee with my life. What he says he will do, he does. ” He suddenly bared his teeth.

“In fact,

Colonel O’Connell, I will trust him with my life, quite literally. Take me with you if this operation I propose is approved. If he betrays us, you can kill me yourself. “

O’Connel I studied the South African officer closely. Christ, he’d thought Brave Fortune was crazy. But what this man Kruger was suggesting was pure, unadulterated insanity. On the other hand, what options did they really have? General Craig was right. They had to get Vorster and get him fast. The Air Force wanted to bomb, but bombing made martyrs. And bombing was never a sure thing.

He shrugged mentally. Kruger’s idea might just be harebrained enough to work. Anyway, it sure as hell couldn’t hurt to explore it further.

He picked up the phone on his desk.

“Bill? Patch me through to the chief of staff’s office. I want to talk to Skiles himself, understand?” He waited for a few minutes, his fingers drumming on the desktop in impatience as he listened to static.

Finally, a familiar voice came on the line, harried but still friendly.

“Good to hear from you, Rob. What can I do for you?”

Time for the plunge. O’Connell sat up straight in his chair.

“I need an appointment with General Craig, sir.”

Skiles sounded doubtful.

“I might be able to get you in sometime this afternoon…”

Hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. O’Connell gripped the receiver tighter.

“No, sir, you don’t understand. I need to see General Craig now.”

HEADQUARTERS, CUBAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, NABOOMSPRUIT

Gen. Antonio Vega cursed the Afrikaners and their fanaticism. They were willing to destroy their entire economy in order to deny it to their enemies. This was scorched earth on a new scale.

He knew what Vorster and the other Boer leaders thought. They would return to basics, to the simple fanning life that they had known in the past. They were fools. Cuba had been trying to climb out of the very trap they wanted to climb into for half a century.

Colonel Suarez knocked on the door.

“Comrade General, your car will be ready in five minutes. “

Vega nodded heavily. It was time for him to visit the remnants of his once-proud First Brigade Tactical Group now encamped fifty kilometers down the road at Warmbad-only one hundred kilometers from Pretoria itself. Their final offensive would begin tomorrow, and as was his custom, he planned to inspect the assault units and say the encouraging things generals were always expected to say on such occasions.

There was a bittersweet feeling to this attack. He’d never doubted that there would be a last battle and a final victory. He had even acknowledged that it might be much harder than originally planned, and it had been. But if the Afrikaners carried out their monstrous threat, it would snatch the prize away moments before it became his.

Under his breath, Vega cursed Vorster again, but he also wondered if he might not have done the same thing under similar circumstances. The temptation to rob a hated enemy of victory must be overpowering.

He buried the thought and rose to follow Suarez. He and his troops had only one option left to them-charge hard for Pretoria and hope for the best.

Both Havana and Moscow had sent messages exhorting him on. They were reassuring, especially the Soviet Union’s promise of expanded logistic support, but also late and unnecessary. He’d scheduled this final Cuban push for tomorrow in any case. Karl Vorster and his cronies would soon learn that their threats could not deter Antonio Vega.

South Africa’s rulers had made one mistake in their calculations. They’d assumed that both the Cuban and U.S. forces would stop rather than risk loss of South Africa’s mineral reserves. Vega didn’t know the American commander Craig’s mind well enough to guess what he would do, but for

Vega there wasn’t any dilemma at all.

If he captured Pretoria and seized the mines intact, he won. The

Afrikaner regime would be destroyed and the West would lose its essential resources. On the other hand, if the mines were contaminated, Cuba and its allies would lose, but so would the Afrikaners and the West. And that, too, was good enough for him.

JANUARY 8-DURBAN

The planning session had been going on since before breakfast. The scattered remains of a hotel meal still littered the table. For security reasons, the kitchen staff weren’t allowed in, and Craig refused to have his enlisted men acting as busboys.

“They can do it, sir. ” Craig’s intelligence officer sounded both sure of his facts and distressed by them. JCS has confirmed the new message from Vorster’s government this morning. It’s all there: materials, methods, everything needed to prove they have the capability.”

That eliminated some of the uncertainty, although there had never really been any doubt. Craig had been hoping for a miracle, some sign that the

Afrikaners were bluffing. Miracles were hard to come by down here.

The colonel continued, JCS has also revised their time estimates.

There’s no question that Pretoria has at least half its mining facilities wired already.” He frowned.

“And they’ll have the rest done by the end of the day.”

In response to Craig’s questioning look, the colonel explained, “Our original estimates included complete coverage of each mine by several explosive devices, all connected to a central control point and one alternate. It appears all the Afrikaners are doing is dropping one waste canister on the end of a wire into each mine and leaving one or two men behind to monitor it.”

Craig nodded. One canister of highlevel radioactive waste would be enough to poison a site for decades, maybe even centuries. They could always beef up the demolitions later, if they wanted to.

The discussion broke off as a sergeant came in hurriedly, clutching a sheaf of papers and photographs. He handed the material to the colonel and whispered briefly with him.

“he Cubans are moving.” The staff stirred in their seats at the halfexpected, half-dreaded news. Craig swore silently to himself.

With one hand, the J-2 cleared away some of the papers and dishes

littering the table. Spreading out a line of photo graphs he examined each one.

“These were taken this morning by reconnaissance aircraft from Vinson.” The photos, taken by advanced cameras and digitally enhanced, were clear. Long lines of vehicles, some tanks, clogged every road south of Warmbad.

One photograph had managed to catch a skirmish between the Boers and the

Cubans. The orderly columns were in disarray, and several smudges of smoke could indicate burning vehicles, or perhaps the explosions of artillery shells.

Clearly, the Afrikaners were still fighting, but the Allied staff had already seen the orders of battle for each side. Craig agreed with the common wisdom: the Cubans could be in Pretoria in three days, four at the outside.

They studied the pictures in silence for several minutes. Then Skiles spoke up, obviously expressing the unstated opinion of the whole Joint

Staff.

“Unless we do something fast, General, we’re screwed.”

Craig nodded.

“True. It’s a win-win situation for Cuba, and this guy Vega knows it. He’s turned into a spoiler, and we’ve got to stop him.” He turned to the naval commander.

“Move Independence and Vinson up the coast, Admiral. Start launching air strikes against the Cuban forces immediately. Don’t attack South African ground forces unless they get in the way, but shoot down anything that flies.”

Rear Adm. Andrew Douglas Stewart arched an eyebrow.

“What about

Washington, General? Will the President approve an escalation like this?”

Craig pointed to the photos.

“My original orders cover engaging the

Cubans, if it becomes necessary. Don’t worry about D.C.” Andy. By the time they’ve spent five minutes looking through these, they’ll be howling for action.”

Many of his staff nodded in acknowledgment, but Skiles looked troubled.

“General, why not use just one carrier? That would slow them down some and still leave one ship to support our own advance. Our air cover is still a little thin. “

Craig shook his head.

“No, George, send them both. We’re gonna have to depend on land-based air, and the Cubans are going to need a lot of stopping.” He looked as if he had a bad taste in his mouth.

“I hate to look like we’re defending the Afrikaners, but if Vega reaches Pretoria, the show’s over.

We’d wind up doing nothing but fighting over Vorster’s dead body and the ashes of South African industry . “

He looked off into space for a brief moment, silently calculating the kind of delay the Navy’s air strikes could impose on Cuba’s an-no red columns. The answer he kept coming up with was unpalatable and equally undeniable. Some, but not enough. He lowered his gaze to the small group of waiting staff officers.

“All right, gentlemen. We’ve run out of sensible options. It’s time to go for broke. We have to authorize Quantum.

“

First Skiles and then the others reluctantly nodded.

Craig dialed a single-digit number preprogrammed into his command phone.

It was answered on the first ring.

“O’Connell.”

“Rob, this is Jerry Craig. Listen carefully. Your operation is a go. You have forty-eight hours to prepare.”

PRETORIA

Brig. Deneys Coetzee looked up sharply as the phone in his downtown flat buzzed repeatedly. That wasn’t his normal line. That was the second phone.

The one he’d had installed covertly and with an unlisted number known only to a special few.

He raced to answer it.

“Yes?”

“Deneys? This is Henrik.”

Coetzee sat down abruptly. Kruger. This was incredible. He chuckled suddenly.

“My God, man, but you gave me a shock there.”

Kruger laughed softly with him.

“I thought I might.” He turned serious.

“Tell me, can you speak freely?”

“I can. What’s up?”

As Kruger told him, Coetzee began to feel hope for his nation for the first time in months. Despite what he’d always been taught and believed, these Americans and British had guts.